


i could be lonely with you

by hamletkin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, looked at lonely eyes comic blacked out and this was in the google doc, old men have feelings and dont express them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:02:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23875153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamletkin/pseuds/hamletkin
Summary: “Why did we divorce this time around?” He didn’t mean to say it, but he found oddly that he didn’t regret it, even as Elias’ hand stilled.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 38
Kudos: 144





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is based off those lonely eyes comics by @tatumsdrawing on tumblr that DESTROYED my soul absolutely.....i simply had to write this

There was a sweet spot in the time periods Peter spent ashore. It was always the same cycle. Make port, feel uncomfortable being around people again, settle into a semi-routine, feel the oncoming wave of discomfort at having so many people living alongside him, throw a few people into the lonely to cope, and then leave again before the warmth of human contact could seep properly underneath his skin. It was sustainable. 

This time around however, Peter stood on the docks while his crew slowly filtered out into the crowd around them. He was caught in the complicated situation of contemplating his divorce. Or at least, caught up in thinking about the protocols of the divorce. Nobody had a hypothetical for what you were meant to do when you were sure it hadn’t been serious, but your ex-husband was unpredictable and could kill you, and you were only divorced because you didn’t want to go to the grocery store at 2am and you’d left a half finished book in the flat because you didn’t think you’d be gone so long but it’d accidentally been 6 months. So he stood at the docks, relishing in the last bit of true loneliness he’d have before stepping into London proper. 

His introspection was interrupted however, by a presence easing into the space beside his elbow. 

“It was a good trip then, I take it? Satiate your patron with some poor sailors?”

There wasn’t anybody else in the world who’s voice was as smug as that. Peter sighed, and half turned his head, his eyes still dully fixed on the sluggishly moving world around them. 

“It was longer than I expected but yes. How about your lot, any new drama unfolding that you have your eyes on?” He knew there was always some sort of uproar at the institute. Gertrude wasn’t the type to let anything go by lying down, and her assistants seemed to almost delight in helping her wreak havoc.

“Nothing that I haven’t expected for a while.” Elias replied smoothly, hooking his arm in the crook of Peter’s elbow. He continued talking while the two of them meandered to where he could see Elias’ car, parked smartly beside the curb. 

There was a prickling at the back of his neck, the unending feeling of being watched that he’d grown accustomed to while being with Elias. Being accustomed to it didn’t make it anymore comfortable however, and he slumped back in the cold leather seat, letting the chill distract him from the pressure of an endlessly watching gaze. 

Elias sighed from the drivers seat and tapped his fingers against the wheel. “Try not to make the car too cold would you dear? You know I hate having the heating on.” 

Peter didn’t grace him with an answer, but let his shoulders settle and released his hold on the lonely minutely. 

The rest of the car ride was conducted in silence, both of them lost in thought. With every breath Peter exhaled the aftertaste of the particular brand of loneliness that came from a city, from being just one faceless figure in a crowd. It was remarkable how disconnected you could feel, even as part of a whole. He relished in it.

The flat itself hadn’t changed much since he’d been gone. A few new books on the shelves, and when he opened the cupboard there were some new mugs stacked in the corner. He turned suddenly, a memory pushing him towards the pantry, the top shelf where- ah. He turned around, holding a conspicuously dusty bottle of wine. “So you didn’t get it down in the end?”

Elias half turned from where he had just set down Peter’s case, “Well. I didn’t need to desperately, there were other bottles.” 

“Yes...” Peter cradled it in his hands, and couldn’t help the fondness that crept into his voice, “but this is your favourite.” 

Elias shrugged, faux nonchalant, “I knew you would be back soon enough. I wasn’t going to debase myself climbing onto a chair for it.” He busied himself unpacking Peter’s clothes.

Peter couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips at that, and after setting the wine down carefully on the countertop, stepped forward to tug Elias’ hands away from the suitcase. He protested only slightly - “Peter this has to be done now, we both know you hate to unpack-” but quieted when they started to sway slowly, Peter cupping their hands together.

There was a moment of stillness, of content, before Elias couldn’t resist snarking any longer. “Sentimental of you.” Even so, there was no bite to his tone, softened with the ease of a cat in sunlight.

“I’m allowed to be sentimental, I haven’t seen my husband in six months.” Peter didn’t realise what he’d said so easily until the half second later when Elias had already stiffened under his hands, stepping away newly cold.

“Ex-husband Peter, or has the salt really gone to your head this time.” There was new tension in his shoulders, and Peter stepped back. He could feel the weight of the chain on his neck now, the cold of two rings burning into his skin.

“I wasn’t aware our feud was ongoing.” He tried to keep his voice light, but knew he was failing. He was unused to speaking, to the rhythm of conversation after spending so long silently communicating with Tadeas. The minute signals and subtleties that were even moreso present with Elias were slipping past his clumsy fingers and he sighed, feeling now more than ever like a bull in a china shop. One wrong move and everything would shatter, and with his h- with his ex-husband the shards were more than likely to make their way into his heart. 

“Well. It is.” Elias nodded towards the corridor, “and go shower would you. The whole apartments going to smell like the Tundra otherwise.” 

It was nice to have water pressure after the too-harsh spatter of the showers on board the Tundra. The drumming warmth almost made Peter feel better about leaning his forehead against the wall of the shower, exhausted from even that slight amount of social interaction. 

He was confused, to say the least. He’d returned to port mid-divorce before, but he’d almost always been banished to his own flat that lay empty and waiting, impersonal furniture and photo frames with stock-photo-families. Why Elias would bring him back to their flat, only to react so badly to Peter’s slip up...he couldn’t understand it. 

Peter towelled himself off roughly, leaving his hair damp but not dripping, and padded into the bedroom.

Midway through tugging on a shirt he felt a presence settle in his periphery and turned his head. Elias leaned against the bedroom door, eyes unreadable as ever as he studied him. Peter let the discomfort of watching disperse across his skin before clearing his throat. “Yes dear?”

“Just wanted to let you know that we’ll be getting takeout. So take your pick from the menus.” His voice was absentminded, in contrast to the intensity of his scrutiny. A beat, and he was turning away, walking back down the corridor. 

Peter held still for a moment more, before tugging his shirt down firmly. Another moment to puzzle over. He had a feeling he’d be acquiring more of those.

Dinner was a muted affair, with shallow comments about the food, the latest developments in the institute soap opera -“Did the takeaway down the road close?” a pause in Elias’ fork moving across the plate. “They’re on holiday for the week, gone overseas.” “Ah.”- before the usual probing questions on what Peter had been doing, gently leading questions on whether he’d seen Salaesa recently. The usual routine. 

He indulged, of course. There was no helping Elias’ inherent need to interrogate, and Peter had long since learned it was easier to go along with it than have the uncomfortable tug of resistance. He never minded the beholding so much when it was through Elias anyway.

Elias had paperwork to do as always, and excused himself to retreat into his study. Peter enjoyed the monotony of washing up, and lost himself in thought as the suds gathered around his hands. The radio was playing quietly in the background, some sort of new broadcast for something neither of them cared about. He took inventory absentmindedly as he put away plates, reorienting himself with the kitchen that had changed just enough to notice. There was a new brand of almond milk in the fridge, a half empty pot of pesto, some caviar. Various delicately wrapped cheese in wax paper.

“You certainly haven’t put the institute money to waste.” Peter muttered under his breath, turning away to glance around the rest of the apartment. There were a few papers on the coffee table, a statement, some scribblings. He wasn’t nosy enough, or cared enough to take a closer look. This was all mostly to familiarise himself again, to relearn all the little cracks that he’d forgotten. 

It wasn’t long though, before he became restless and found himself inexorably pulled to Elias’ study. He didn’t knock, he didn’t have to. Elias was already looking up when he pushed the door open. His reading glasses sat innocuously on the bridge of his nose, a delicate add on to his carefully constructed image. He was comfortable, but not relaxed. A tilt of his head, indication to speak.

“Well-” Peter struggled suddenly on what he’d wanted to say. Why had he come to his office? “I-”

Elias waited patiently for a moment, before sliding off his glasses and getting to his feet. “You’re right. It is getting late. Let’s go to bed?”

He brushed past him through the door, as Peters mouth and brain finally seemed to catch up to each other just in time for him to say, “yes” and “I’m sure we’re both tired.”

He couldn’t help but groan lying down on the mattress. There were perks to returning home from the Tundra, and memory foam was one of them. Elias settled back on the headboard beside him, already picking up a book from the bedside table as Peter pressed his face into the pillow. 

He didn’t know how long he’d been dozing for before long, delicate fingers were threading through his hair. He turned towards it, eyes still closed as they pet and scratched gently along his scalp. Peter let it go uninterrupted for a few blissful moments before cracking his eyes open and looking up at Elias, purposefully disaffected. “Who’s the sentimental one now?”

There wasn’t a pause in the movement of his hand now stroking across his temple as he flipped the page with the other. The only indication that he’d heard Peter at all was the quick slide of his eyes, away and back to his book. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Peter blinked his eyes closed and simply hummed into the pillow, before tilting his head to give better access at a particular spot behind his ear. 

“Why did we divorce this time around?” He didn’t mean to say it, but he found oddly that he didn’t regret it, even as Elias’ hand stilled. 

“I don’t really remember.” Elias’ voice was so forcefully unconcerned that Peter sat up, completely dislodging his hand from where it’d comfortably been in his hair. He met his gaze steadily, and not even a flicker of emotion entered his gaze when Peter cupped his jaw with a cool hand.

“Come on now Elias we both know that’s a lie.” For the first time since walking into the flat, he didn’t feel wrong-footed.

“Does it matter” Elias leaned his cheek into Peter’s cool palm, lips moving against sensitive skin and eyes still blank.

“It clearly does to you.” Their voices were getting softer and softer, and Peter could feel himself moving sluggishly forward, a draw he could blame on no one but himself. 

“I think you’ll find it really doesn’t.” This was murmured against his lips, product of Elias’ never ending need to get the last word in before they kissed. It was warm, and too much teeth, Elias’ hand fisting in his t-shirt, and it took a second for the both of them to align properly, for muscle memory to kick in before it was like the click of two puzzle pieces finally finding home. 

Peter could be a hopeless romantic and say it was all a haze after that, of gentle kissing and hands patting along skin not felt for months, relearning all the spaces in between. He wouldn’t even really be lying if he said it was. But Elias would scoff and mimic his own words back to him, fond as ever. 

They were lying together comfortably now, Peter’s face pressed into the juncture of Elias’s neck, breathing out softly along his collarbones. A hand stroked gently across his scalp and his own arms were looped loosely around Elias’ torso. 

“-itchy” 

“Hm?” Peter hummed muzzily into Elias’ neck.

“Itchy.”

This time he looked up, and frowned at the discomfort he saw gathering in the lines of Elias’ mouth. 

“Itchy?”

“Your beard.” Elias waved his free hand at Peter’s face, “it’s...too long. It’s irritating.”

Peter brought a hand up to his face incredulously. “It is not long. It’s just grown out a little because I’ve been at sea. What do you want me to do about it? Shave?”

He said it as a half-hearted joke but the silence carried by Elias’ stare made him backtrack hastily. “No- Elias wait-”

Silence.

“Shave? At this time of night? Elias it’s late I’m not just going to-”

A raised eyebrow.

Peter stared back belligerently, as Elias steepled his fingers across his chest. 

“It’s fine if you want to keep this pretense of caveman chic Peter, I just won’t let you smother me in the meantime.” 

“It isn’t smothering you, you baby, you can barely even feel it.”

Elias blinked, and without warning turned away from Peter, settling on his side. 

“Elias? Elias?” He pawed helplessly at the sheets pooling around Elias’ shoulders, “It’s not. This isn’t that big of a deal Elias.”

Again, the silence was pointed.

Peter’s forehead creased as he sat back, hand coming up to rub at his beard. He hated to give in to Elias’ every whim but he was already missing the warmth of embrace, the cold settling quickly into his bones. 

A further moment of struggle, before he threw off the sheets and did not stomp to the bathroom. He could practically feel Elias’ smugness from walls away. The razor lying innocuosly beside the sink didn’t help. 

It wasn’t giving in. He would probably have had to shave later anyway, it was just for convenience’s sake, and it wasn’t all of his beard anyway. Looking in the mirror as the shaver whirred across his chin he frowned. Elias had made a point. It wasn’t just his beard getting long, and as he set the shaver down, he pushed and tugged at the curls, turning his head from side to side.

“Stop looking at yourself in the mirror and get back to bed.” Elias’ imperious voice carried from the bedroom with that surety that made the hairs on the back of Peters neck stand up. 

“Alright, alright…” He made his way back to the bedroom slowly, and Elias looked up from where he already had a book in hand, a different pair of glasses perched on his nose. He patted the space beside him, attention already diverted and Peter couldn’t resist the chance to snark even as he took his place curling around Elias.

“No need to be smug about it.”

“Smug about what? I didn’t make you do anything.” He couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice, and Peter snorted, feathering kisses along the crease of his neck. Elias sighed, and he finally felt him relax, the tension of his spine easing and his hand coming up to stroke carefully in the warm space behind Peters ear. 

Peter fell asleep first. He always did sleep easier with the sleep-warmth of Elias, a welcome change from the chill and salt-slick air that permeated every part of the Tundra. He ran cold, he was the first to admit it but it was...nice to be warm while he slept. Elias certainly didn’t seem to take extra comfort from his presence in bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> elias and peter finding their rhythm feat. some necessary sacrifices to the void

Elias had work as usual, which explained the space where Peter's hand touched the empty mattress. He stretched lazily from where he’d woken up, the indented space beside him still warm and he cracked his eyes open as the smell of coffee snuck through the flat. 

He took a moment to bask in the warmth of a slept-in bed - a luxury hard to find on the tundra - before getting up properly, another stretch as he got to his feet before padding to the kitchen. Elias was already dressed smartly in his trousers and shirt, but his hair was tousled and flattened awkwardly on one side betraying his secrets of whether the man did sleep at all. 

Peter sidled up behind him, and Elias kept up the pretense of not being aware of his every move. A play at domesticity that both of them knew the steps to, no matter if it was just an imitation. He rested his chin on Elias’ shoulder and folded his arms around his torso. 

“Feeling clingy aren’t we?” Fondness undercut the otherwise patronizing sentence, and Peter didn’t answer, brain still clogged with the fuzz of waking up. He didn’t have the energy to engage in Elias’ quips just yet. 

“Coffee?” 

Peter nodded, yawning as he detached from the impromptu embrace and walked to the bathroom. Washing his face usually cleared away the last few cobwebs in the attic, per se, not to insinuate anything of the web while he was with Elias. He wasn’t one to moisturise, but Elias’ love of...extravagance extended even to his skincare, as evidenced by the full bathroom cabinet. It treaded the balance of simplistic and complicated lightly, with bottles that sported a simple moisturiser description alongside products that Peter suspected had used words to simply fill up product space.

Once he returned to the kitchen, Elias greeted him with a cup of sweet, milky coffee, while sipping on his own espresso. 

“I don’t understand how you drink that stuff.” Peter muttered, taking a mouthful of his own. “It tastes like tar without anything in it.” 

The coffee was another enjoyable thing about being home. He had quite the list going. 

“I prefer to enjoy the flavour without anything else clogging it up.” Elias replied primly. “Now if you excuse me I have to finish getting ready. I think Gertrude’s hoping I won’t come in so she can attempt to destroy the institute again.” 

Peter scowled into his mug, trying his best not to be petulant. “Are you sure you can’t just get rid of her somehow. I still can’t believe she ruined my ritual, without even really lifting a finger.”

Elias set down his cup and sighed, cupping Peter’s face in one hand - still coffee warm - as he levelled him with a look akin to one that you would give an overzealous child. “Peter, I can’t get rid of my Archivist just because you got annoyed at her. She’s disrupted other rituals, many of which were much more thought out than yours.”

“More thought out-” Peter spluttered as Elias pat his cheek, sighed, and walked swiftly past to the bedroom. “My ritual was very thought out!” He gulped down the last few dregs of milky coffee and huffed, crossing his arms. “You’ll see how it feels when she foils yours.”

The silence was telling, and Peter sighed, anger dissipating just as quickly as it came. He never was one to hold onto emotions, especially not strong ones. It was exhausting being engaged in anything for so long. He could hear the faint sounds of Elias moving around in the bedroom, the simple presence of another person prickling in the hind corners of his brain.

“Feel free to just hang about here.” Elias walked back out, all his pieces of metaphorical armour slotted together, and not a hair out of place. “Or don’t. I know you relish your alone time” 

Peter couldn’t resist whistling, and winking salaciously when Elias turned his head sharply, narrowing his eyes. “What? I’m not allowed to show appreciation?”

A snort. “Oh, if appreciation is all it is. You know, just because you’re a sailor now doesn’t mean you have to be crude. Why not try out being high society for once? You were certainly raised into it.” He tugged at his cuffs, brushing off imaginary lint from his lapels. Peter was suddenly struck by the image of a particularly stuck up cat grooming itself fastidiously. “No matter, you can bother me more when I get back. I do have to rush, or I believe Michael won’t be able to resists Gertrudes wheedling any longer at all.”

Peter only tottered around the apartment for about an hour after Elias left. Any sources of entertainment he might have gotten from it were quickly exhausted in favour of following the sweet smell of loneliness that permeated through the brickwork. It wasn’t hard to get ready quickly. All it took for Peter was tugging on a sweater and large heavy coat, bulky but still somehow letting him blend in innocuously.

London was quite the city to be alone in. It was easy for Peter to slip into the chill of the Lonely and trail after the telltale signals of an easy victim. Commuters with faces blank as mannequins, a figure slumping along the sidewalk who’s unhappiness weighed on their shoulders like it was something real. It took almost no effort at all to have them walk into the white-noise, surrounded by people one second and completely abandoned the next.

He took a long breath, and another, satisfaction seeping through his limbs, a better energiser than any source of caffeine. The fear sat sharp and bitter on his tongue, an aftertaste that lingered just long enough for Peter to crave the next victim like a man starved of air. 

Of course with the sudden abundance of victims came the overwhelming presences of all the other major powers in London. It wouldn’t do to step on anyone's toes. Certainly not while Gertrude was already stomping about until everyone was tender and smarting, slanted pride turning easily to hostility.

There was a telltale prickling at the back of his neck that made Peter turn and smile vacantly upwards. Elias couldn’t go very long without giving in to his overwhelming need to Know and See. Goosebumps settled that almost felt like a steady hand on the back of his neck. He tilted his head and sighed gruffly, basking in that uncomfortable warmth for a second before slipping back, further into the Lonely. He could indulge in Elias’ urges, but only to a point.

His day continued much like this, with only one other victim pushed gently into isolation, some temp worker who had already done half the work convincing himself that nobody would care if he went missing at all. It was a point easily disputed, but would Peter ever be the one to contest it. 

He was walking along the Thames, lost in thought when his phone buzzed distantly. Peter already knew it was a text from Elias before even looking at the screen. Hardly anyone else would have reason to contact him. 

“Lunch? Rosie can handle things for an hour.” 

It was characteristically blunt, and Peter could almost picture Elias sitting behind his desk, phone lazily clasped in one hand while the other still worked busily at some email on a complaint that would get quietly swept under the rug. His pale eyes - at least, the ones in his face - caught up in scanning through documents at a speed that Peter still couldn’t understand. He would get more antsy the longer he took to reply, tension gathering around his lips and in rapidfire tapping of his fingers on the keyboard. He would Look if Peter took too long, insufferable know it all that he was.

“O.K. C U @ institute :-D”

It was a familiar path to the Magnus Institute. Peter would often make his way there for professional - and unprofessional - meetings. The familiar brick structure, elegant oak wood doors that opened easily upon request. He carried in with him some of that cold winter-y air, and he noted apathetically the poor employees who shivered, moving quickly from the foyer to their respective places as cogs within the machine. Peter smiled blithely to the secretary, who nodded in exchange before continuing up to Elias’ office. 

He hummed a little tune, quirking his lips at the paintings and photographs along the walls whose eyes followed his trek through the institute. Peter couldn’t be blamed for tucking the lonely securely around himself. It was a simple, common sense precaution to being so close to Gertrude. While he was fairly sure that she wouldn’t try anything serious, he still wanted to avoid conversation. Her gaze, that seemed to effortlessly strip him back down to his knobby kneed childhood self, made Peter shudder with the terrible notion of being known. 

He didn’t knock on the office door. Elias had known he was here from the moment Peter had stepped foot inside the institute. 

“I don’t see why you feel the need to bring the chill in with you.” Elias didn’t look up from where his pen scratched busily across paper. “It’s dramatic, and it puts all this indoor heating to waste.”

“Well,” Peter replied, stubbornly jovial, “I suppose you could say I’m inadvertently paying for the heating that I’m also disrupting.” 

Elias levelled him with a particularly unimpressed stare, before setting down his pen properly and pushing away from his desk. He crossed the room to his coat stand and shrugged on some dark brown, expensive looking thing. “I’m not very picky about where we do lunch but it’ll have to be quick. There’s been some disaster in Artefact Storage that needed Section 31 to take care of it, and you know how much paperwork that takes.”

Peter hummed, and nodded, and stepped up behind Elias to smooth out his hands along his back. He tensed, before settling his shoulders deliberately. 

“I think,” Peter stated, feeling the chill of his palms soak through underneath Elias’ various layers, “that you need to step out with me, dear ex-husband-”- he was careful on his choice of words now- “and let Rosie handle a few things for you. She’s a wonderful woman, I’m sure she can cope.” 

He could practically feel Elias’ thoughts turn and twist in his brain as he considered every angle, ruthlessly tearing apart different outcomes in a matter of seconds. A few seconds of silence passed, before Elias turned smartly on his heel, placing his hand perfunctorily on his Peters arms. 

He smiled, brilliantly and Peter blinked, feeling very suddenly like a moth faced with a very bright light-bulb. “Excellent idea. You’re right. It’s been too long since we’ve just had a nice, normal lunch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aghghhg JUST UNDER A MONTH UPDATE WHOOPS!!! i had this just sitting in my document for ages because i COULD NOT capture their voices again at all but i think it happened??? um the comments on the first chapter of this were so nice! i wasn't expecting a reception at all because i felt stupidly self indulgent writing this but im so so glad other people also enjoyed my hot take on these terrible old men :))

**Author's Note:**

> thanks 4 reading PLEASE leave a comment if u liked it i need the validation xoxo
> 
> feel free to yell at me @jonaliasmagchard on tumblr dot com :))


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